


Ex-Divine Hope

by angzlicas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dean really wants to help Cas, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Excessive Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i don't know how long this'll be but I'll add tags as I go just know there will be, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angzlicas/pseuds/angzlicas
Summary: During a mission gone wrong trying to rescue Sam and Dean from a witch, Castiel loses his grace. Dean finds it extremely unsettling when his human-again best friend decides to take a page out of his own book and starts drinking, thinking back to the Cas he met when Zachariah zapped him to the future. He doesn't want that for him and decides to do everything he can to help Cas, even if that means addressing his own bad habits and coping methods.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Ex-Divine Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This fic was requested by Ping's prompt on the Profound Bond discord! I loved this idea and decided it'd be fun to do. I don't know how long it's going to end up being and the PB Gift Exchange will likely keep me from posting as often as I'd like to, but I'd estimate maybe 4 chapters? 20k at most. Anyway, I'll leave the original prompt in the end notes. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Profound Bond discord (18+): https://discord.gg/profoundbond
> 
> Spn Family discord (15+): https://discord.gg/6x69CQ6G2r

Castiel knew it was a bad idea when he walked through the door, but it had been too late to turn back. 

The Winchester brothers were in danger and he didn’t want to waste time looking for alternate ways into the run-down warehouse. It was warded against everything but God himself so the likelihood of him finding an entrance that wasn’t protected by some spell or another was almost zero.

Looking back, he should’ve been much more cautious with his plan. When he had gotten a prayer from that witch with evil, twisted thoughts, and a lust for power, the angel should have thought about why it was asking for money rather than something more supernatural, more meaningful. He should have _known_ it was a trap. Nothing that power-hungry wanted money unless they were an amateur or had no idea what they were doing. This being _prayed_ to him. _Knew what he was_. 

That was a sign.

Castiel storms through the door, angel blade in hand along with a suitcase full of money. Before he could look around to see whether Sam and Dean were in the large room, a bright flash of light filled his vision before it went black. He fell to the floor with a grunt, afraid of what it meant for not only him, but his two closest friends. 

He couldn’t protect them.

He _failed_.

As he faded into unconsciousness, he only had one thought.

 _Shit_.

* * *

The first thing Castiel was aware of was his lack of sight. He couldn’t see. Why couldn’t he see? Was he in a dream? No, angels don’t dream. For a split second, Castiel begins to panic, thinking he’s back in the empty. Trying to bring his hands up to rub his eyes, he realizes he can’t. He can’t move, can’t see, and when he tries to shout, he’s unable to make a sound. Then he remembers.

He remembers trying to find Sam and Dean. Remembers the week, _at least_ , that they’ve been missing. The voicemails he left trying to contact them, thinking they had no service and forgot to leave a note for him. It was rare, but every once in a while they had to leave in a rush. He waited a few days, calling them every couple of hours and eventually contacting other hunters, asking if anyone had heard from them. No one did.

The days he was alone at the bunker were the hardest. All the memories of the three of them laughing and playing card games, doing research, having movie marathons where him and Dean shared the couch while Sam sat in the recliner. He just sat in the library, calling person after person, hoping someone had an idea of where they had gone. He didn’t lose hope.

That’s when he got the prayer:

 _Castiel. I pray to the angel, Castiel. I know you hear me Castiel, Angel of Thursday. I know you have a_ bond _with the two men known as the Winchesters. I have them. I can give them back to you. For a price._

The voice in his head made him shiver, feeling the oily thoughts against his grace. There was a short pause in the prayer as Castiel had sat wide-eyed, staring off into space as he waited with bated breath at what the next words would be.

 _$500,000. Bring me that amount, in_ cash _, by tomorrow at midnight._

She relayed the address.

_If you aren’t there by then, you might find your little pets with a few missing limbs. Goodbye, Castiel._

Then silence.

He should’ve known it was a trap.

Castiel struggles harder in his bindings, feeling one around each of his arms and legs and one around his neck, the cold metal digging painfully into his skin. It shouldn’t be hurting him, but it is, meaning they’ve been warded to hold an angel. Knowing he’s being held down now, he realizes there’s a cloth over his eyes, preventing him from seeing. He’s completely bound, can’t make any noise, and is blind to the world around him. Feeling the cold air biting at his skin, he realizes he’s naked. Whoever did this to him left the angel completely vulnerable, at the other’s mercy.

He hears footsteps.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Winchester’s pet angel,” he hears a woman's voice, evil with malice, “I was wondering how long it would take you to get here. An hour is cutting it a little close, don’t you think?”

Cas tries to respond, lips forming words of anger and hatred towards this _thing_ that dared to deceive a powerful being such as himself. However, no sound comes out, leaving him mute and unable to respond to the cruel voice that proceeds to laugh at him. He feels the cool, sharp tip of something he recognizes as his angel blade being pressed into his skin, starting at the middle of his chest before moving up his neck towards his chin, forcing him to tilt his head up to avoid being cut deep enough to cause too much damage in his current state. Blood pours out of the slash, pooling on the cold table under him as the witch moves the blade higher up his face, no longer carving into his skin, slicing through the blindfold and exposing him to the harsh light he’s under.

The woman he sees is beautiful, no older than 30, with long locks of chocolate brown and pale skin. Her eyes, however, have a glint of red around the irises, making it obvious her soul has been corrupted in some supernatural way. In this case, it’s black magic. She peers at him with an evil glint, looking proud at having an angel at her mercy. Castiel feels a pressure he had been subconsciously aware of leave his throat and immediately opens his mouth.

“Where’s Dean,” he says, glaring at her as she smiles back at him.

“Oh so maybe _he’s_ the pet in your relationship. Figures. He wouldn't stop whining about you "kicking my ass". We see how that’s turned out, now haven’t we,” she coos with a sugary laugh, turning away and dragging the blade from his ankle, cutting through the flesh, up to the inside of his thigh. He tries to jerk away from both the pain and how uncomfortably close she’s getting to his genitals. The pain is striking compared to the usually uncomfortable feeling he gets at his vessel being injured. With a humorless chuckle, she moves the blade across his hip and above his navel, more blood gushing from the wound.

“Whatever you want to know, I won’t tell you,” Castiel spits out, glaring daggers at the woman above him.“I’m guessing Sam and Dean didn’t either,” he continues, lips ticking up in an amused grimace, simultaneously proud and worried about the two men.

“Oh, no, Castiel. Is that what you think I want? Information?” she speaks with a knowing and dangerous tone, egging him into the response she wants.

Castiel won’t give her the satisfaction.

He stays silent as she continues carving seemingly random swirls into his vessel, light pouring out of the deeper ones from his inability to begin healing them. The warded restraints along with the use of his angel blade make for maximum damage to his body. As he begins to drift off into a daze from the blood loss, the witch grabs his chin, forcing him to look back into her eyes.

“I want your power, Castiel.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

He doesn’t let on his confusion as to what she’s trying to say, yet she rolls her eyes and rephrases anyway.

“I want your _grace_ , Castiel. I want to have power over all my enemies, witches and demons alike. All supernatural beings will cower before me, a witch that holds the power of an angel’s grace. From what I’ve read, the soul fuels grace as does grace, soul. They feed each other. I could have infinite power _and_ live for centuries more, _at the very least_. Maybe even a few _millennia_. With the grace of an angel and the knowledge of a witch, I will be _unstoppable_.”

Castiel stares up at her, eyes wide and unblinking, trying to comprehend everything she’s spouting off. It seems impossible. He’s almost positive that it _is_ impossible. But she seems to believe it which puts the angel in _immense_ danger. He has to get free. Has to get out, find Sam and Dean and put her down. Her entire conspiracy is dangerous.

Theoretically, he thinks it could be possible; for a human to gain the grace of an angel. He’s never heard of it happening though. Humans don’t possess enough knowledge to know how to get an angel’s grace, let alone be successful in the energy transfer. And he’s never even heard of it being possible for a supernatural being to be able to do it. They aren’t human, their souls corrupted by evil or a predatory hunger absent in most humans. This witch wouldn’t survive. The divinity coloring his grace would burn her out the second it touched her soul. 

“You’re wrong,” Castiel states, staring at her with such conviction and anger that she seems to be taken aback, confusion taking over her expression before it turns back to madness.

“ _Liar_ ,” she screams, carving his skin faster, deeper, his vision beginning to blur as spots appear in his line of sight. He faintly recognizes some of the slashes as runes, likely to go with some sort of spell or incantation the witch thinks she needs to recite to gain access to his grace.

His head lolling to the side, Castiel’s eyes begin to close again but he tries to hold out, hoping his friends have found a way to get out, to free themselves and come searching for the angel. He vaguely hears the witch start speaking in Latin, the words not comprehensible because of his injured state. She takes his chin in hand again, tilting it forward and up, exposing his neck to the tip of his blade.

Castiel starts struggling with urgency, lucid enough to grasp what’s happening. Flashbacks of being restrained similar to now, in a white chair in heaven, both his vessel and true form exposed to Metatron’s blade, the metal slicing his skin open while the scribe drained his grace. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling then and it certainly isn’t now, being in a place that gives him no comfort, unable to speak or scream with the pressure being forced back onto his throat. Castiel thinks of his time as a human, thinks of all the pain he went through at having to do most of it alone. Having no control over others or being able to heal himself. Feeling things more acutely than he could’ve imagined. The pain of feeling abandoned by his closest friend, the man he saved. But then he came back. Dean _wanted_ him to come back. Taught him how to make a bed, cook food that tasted better than anything he had ever eaten. Castiel had always felt it, but being human opened his eyes to what _it_ really meant. He loved him. Of course, he did. It was Dean. The human who had saved him countless times, who taught him what love was. So, yeah, maybe Castiel wanted to feel that again; wanted to have a chance to love and be loved. But he can do that as an angel. He doesn’t want to be human. Maybe he will one day, but not right now.

Not like this.

With a victorious grin on her face as she continues to speak, the witch presses down on the side of his neck. She moves the blade slowly, cutting a clean gash from left to right, blood trickling out at a faster rate the more she slices. Reaching the climax of her incantation, the witch yells out the final word as Castiel watches his grace leave his body, _again_ , and thinks this is the last he’ll ever see of it. He’ll die here, strapped clothless to a metal table, carved up like an offering to a god. He’ll die here, knowing he won’t ever get the chance to talk to Dean again. Or Sam. Or any of the many other friends he’s made during his time on earth. He’ll die here, alone and afraid. He’ll die, not as a great warrior of heaven, but as a _human_. 

As the last of his grace swirls out of his vessel, hovering above him, eye level with the witch, he lets the fight drain out of his body. There’s nothing he can do but watch as his grace, a part of him that he’s had since the beginning of time, flows through the witch. She throws her head back, chest tight and mouth wide, holding a scream as the power shoots through her veins. Castiel looks in horror as all of it is consumed and the witch straightens, shooting a predatory smile at him a split second before it falls. 

She hunches over, crying out as light begins to pour out of her eyes, mouth, and ears. Castiel knows his grace is burning her from the inside out, the pure power too potent to contain without an angel to manage it. She falls to the ground, still screaming, as her eyes are burned out and then it’s silent, a dull thud echoing around the room as the witch slumps over. Relieved at the knowledge that the Winchester brothers won’t have another all-powerful being to destroy, the angel-turned-human lays his head back and closes his eyes, welcoming the darkness that he knows will take his now-human soul to heaven, or possibly hell, for the rest of its existence.

* * *

Waking up is harder this time than it was before. Castiel fades in and out, unable to stay conscious for more than a few seconds at a time. He suddenly feels a hand on his cheek, warm and calloused. Words are being murmured in his ear as he becomes aware that he’s being held, the steady rise and fall of his body letting him know that whoever it is isn’t straining themselves. Turning his head into the firm chest, Castiel lets himself drift back into a dreamless sleep.

Turns out, it wasn’t dreamless.

He wakes with a shout, drenched in sweat as he sits up quickly. Taking deep breaths to calm down from whatever nightmares had plagued his mind, Castiel looks around the room he’s in. It’s his room. The one he had gotten when he had been human a few years ago. After he became an angel again, even though there was no need for it, the small bedroom was a place he could escape to when he needed to clear his head- whether that be after a hunt, an argument with Dean, or anything else that might pop up.

Scanning the area for anything abnormal, Castiel comes up short and starts to get on his feet. When he feels sharp stinging pains all along his body, he sits back down, groaning until the pain subsides. Looking down, he sees bandages all across his chest and legs, some wrapping two or three times around the more painful areas. In some places, he can see splashes of red seeping through the white. Thinking back on what might’ve happened, he stands back up and walks out the door. Realization dawns on him as he reaches the restroom and he stumbles, holding out a hand for balance but he misses the wall. Falling to the floor, Castiel lets out another pained groan, already tired of being awake and aware of his new self.

Standing is an obstacle all on its own as well as walking the few feet to the mirror without tripping again. Steadying himself with both hands on the sink, Castiel looks up into his reflection. He can’t say he hasn’t looked better. The first thing he notices is all the bandages that he already knew were covering his skin where he knows there are deep gashes hiding underneath. Next is the bags under his eyes, the dark color contrasting with his sickly pale skin. His hair was a mess and he looked like he’d pass out again any second. Turning towards the stalls, he begins to make his way over to relieve himself, his heart aching along with his body at what it means. Before he can reach it, the door bangs open and Castiel looks over to see Dean with a frantic look in his eyes, scanning the room before they land on him. Breathing out a relieved sigh upon seeing Castiel, Dean makes his way further into the restroom. 

“How’re you doing, Cas,” Dean says, leaning against the wall across from him. His brow creases with worry as he looks Castiel up and down, checking for any signs of discomfort or pain.

“I’ve been better,” Castiel responds, turning away so Dean can’t scan him any further. He feels helpless. Like a baby kitten that’s been out on the street, alone, without food. Losing his grace feels different this time. It’s not a good feeling.

Dean stands straighter, eyes narrowing as he starts to walk towards Castiel. Grabbing his upper arm, Dean turns the man back to face him and tries to catch his eyes. At first, Castiel doesn’t want to look- doesn’t want to see the pity in Dean’s eyes. Eventually, though, he looks up. Looks into the beautiful pools of emerald with tiny flecks of gold that wouldn’t be noticeable if Castiel wasn’t so close to Dean. Dean searches his eyes- what he’s trying to find, Castiel isn’t sure. After a few moments, Dean relents, stepping away and turning back towards the door.

“Okay, well, if you need anything Cas, _anything_ , let me know. Come find me. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, okay?” he looks so sincere and tired, eyes seeming to look right past whatever wall Castiel has put up to block his thoughts at the moment, that the blue-eyed man can’t help but nod. Dean nods once back at him before starting to walk out of the restroom.

“Dean, wait,” Castiel calls, suddenly extremely anxious at the question he wants to ask. He almost just lets Dean go, almost makes an excuse or tell him thank you or ask what happened. But he has to know. _Needs_ to know. Dean’s looking at him patiently, eyes kind and regretful, like he already knows what Castiel is going to ask and he doesn’t like the answer himself.

“I- my grace…” Dean just watches him, waiting for the rest of the question. “Is it… is it all gone?”

Castiel closes his eyes, hoping that the answer he gets is in the negative. Or that he’s just asleep and dreaming of this horrible, _horrible_ situation that he never wanted to have to face again. When he opens them, Dean is right there, lifting his hands up to cup Castiel’s cheeks. His palms are warm and calloused, yet still soft and gentle as he raises Castiel’s head so their eyes meet.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry Cas.”

And that’s his answer.

Everything he never wanted, at least not this way. It wasn’t _his choice_. He’s human. Again. And if Dean’s saying what Castiel thinks he’s saying, he’s always going to be human from now on. There’s nothing left of his grace- all of it burnt out by that witch who had no idea what she was doing; what she _stole_ from him. And it’s not like he can go hunt other angels down and steal theirs. He already did it once and he can’t do it again. It isn’t right, no matter how much the others don’t deserve to keep it. Plus, it would only be borrowed. It wouldn’t be his.

Castiel collapses in Dean’s arms, almost falling to the floor before Dean holds him tight, making sure he stays on his feet. For the first time, he feels like crying. For everything he’s lost, everything he’s been through. It’s not _right_. Not _fair_. Why is it happening to _him_? It doesn’t make sense. He’s working himself up to hysteria at this point, tears welling up in his eyes before he lets them fall. Castiel can’t hold them in anymore. So he sobs into Dean’s shirt, warm tears sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the firm chest underneath them. They slide to the floor together, Dean now stroking both hands through his hair while holding him tightly to his chest, trying to close him off from the world and everything it’s taken from him. After a few minutes, with the former angel still crying silent tears, he feels warmth trickle down from his temple and realizes Dean is crying with him. Castiel can feel the small heaves from coming from Dean and knows that he’s hurting for Castiel, too. They both remember last time- when Dean had to force Castiel out of the bunker on his own. It had been hard. But he thinks Dean can also feel the difference this time, the finality of it and the hopelessness at Castiel’s situation. 

They sit there for a few more minutes before the tears stop and Dean slowly gets to his feet. Looking up, Castiel sees Dean holding a hand out for him and he grabs it, standing up before Dean lets go of his hand and points toward the stall. Walking in and relieving himself, Castiel keeps his mind blank, not thinking of anything particular before walking out and washing his hands. Turning back to Dean, he sees his hand stretched out again and grabs it, being tugged back to his room by the man who’s almost always been there for him. Dean pushes him back into the bed and under the covers and, seeing the desperation in Castiel’s eyes at obviously not wanting to be alone, crawls under the comforter with him. Castiel curls up next to him and Dean wraps both arms gently around his bruised and gauze wrapped body. Together, they fall asleep to each other’s breathing, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.

**Author's Note:**

> Read: I may change some of the aspects of this prompt to better fit the storyline
> 
> Prompt: Canonverse. Cas goes human for real and lives with Sam and Dean in the bunker. It was against his will and he’s of course pretty messed up about it, even if he manages ok. Dean is shocked and unsettled when he finds Cas drunk because of the depression and anxiety - he remembers 2014!Cas all too well in that moment. Right now it’s just goopy sad funny-drunk (think “you’re bossy” Sam drunk), but Dean’s the only one who knows Cas’s possible future and when it comes to Cas’s safety, Dean can get a little crazy. He doesn’t tell Cas or Sam about it, just takes care of drunk Cas that night and hungover Cas the next day, and tries to plan for how to help his friend. He can keep alcohol out of common areas and stick to the worst watery beer... But after all that hard introspection, he realizes his own method of dealing isn’t exactly a good example, he’s been aware for far too long now that his own substance use is in the problematic category, but of course he never faces that. But this is Cas’s short fragile human life he’s worried about... Dean can get sober to protect that. It’s fucking rough, but it brings all the people around him together, and he realizes a lot of things about he and Cas in the process.


End file.
